with that unnatural rebellion," I remarked. "My case is happily
otherwise; I am a true man, and can look either the Duke or King George

in the face without concern."
"Is it so the wind sits?" says he. "I protest you are fallen in the

worst sort of error. Prestongrange has been hitherto so civil (he
tells me) as not to combat your allegations; but you must not think

they are not looked upon with strong suspicion. You say you are
innocent. My dear sir, the facts declare you guilty."

"I was waiting for you there," said I.
"The evidence of Mungo Campbell; your flight after the completion of

the murder; your long course of secresy - my good young man!" said Mr.
Simon, "here is enough evidence to hang a bullock, let be a David

Balfour! I shall be upon that trial; my voice shall be raised; I shall
then speak much otherwise from what I do to-day, and far less to your

gratification, little as you like it now! Ah, you look white!" cries
he. "I have found the key of your impudent heart. You look pale, your

eyes waver, Mr. David! You see the grave and the gallows nearer by
than you had fancied."

"I own to a natural weakness," said I. "I think no shame for that.
Shame. . ." I was going on.

"Shame waits for you on the gibbet," he broke in.
"Where I shall but be even'd with my lord your father," said I.

"Aha, but not so!" he cried, "and you do not yet see to the bottom of
this business. My father suffered in a great cause, and for dealing in

the affairs of kings. You are to hang for a dirty murder about boddle-
pieces. Your personal part in it, the treacherous one of holding the

poor wretch in talk, your accomplices a pack of ragged Highland
gillies. And it can be shown, my great Mr. Balfour - it can be shown,

and it WILL be shown, trust ME that has a finger in the pie - it can be
shown, and shall be shown, that you were paid to do it. I think I can

see the looks go round the court when I adduce my evidence, and it
shall appear that you, a young man of education, let yourself be

corrupted to this shocking act for a suit of cast clothes, a bottle of
Highland spirits, and three-and-fivepence-halfpenny in copper money."

There was a touch of the truth in these words that knocked me like a
blow: clothes, a bottle of USQUEBAUGH, and three-and-fivepence-

halfpenny in change made up, indeed, the most of what Alan and I had
carried from Auchurn; and I saw that some of James's people had been

blabbing in their dungeons.
"You see I know more than you fancied," he resumed in triumph. "And as

for giving it this turn, great Mr. David, you must not suppose the
Government of Great Britain and Ireland will ever be stuck for want of

evidence. We have men here in prison who will swear out their lives as
we direct them; as I direct, if you prefer the phrase. So now you are

to guess your part of glory if you choose to die. On the one hand,
life, wine, women, and a duke to be your handgun: on the other, a rope

to your craig, and a gibbet to clatter your bones on, and the lousiest,
lowest story to hand down to your namesakes in the future that was ever

told about a hired assassin. And see here!" he cried, with a
formidable shrill voice, "see this paper that I pull out of my pocket.

Look at the name there: it is the name of the great David, I believe,
the ink scarce dry yet. Can you guess its nature? It is the warrant

for your arrest, which I have but to touch this bell beside me to have
executed on the spot. Once in the Tolbooth upon this paper, may God

help you, for the die is cast!"
I must never deny that I was greatly horrified by so much baseness, and

much unmanned by the immediacy and ugliness of my danger. Mr. Simon
had already gloried in the changes of my hue; I make no doubt I was now

no ruddier than my shirt; my speech besides trembled.
"There is a gentleman in this room," cried I. "I appeal to him. I put

my life and credit in his hands."
Prestongrange shut his book with a snap. "I told you so, Simon," said

he; "you have played your hand for all it was worth, and you have lost.
Mr. David," he went on, "I wish you to believe it was by no choice of

mine you were subjected to this proof. I wish you could understand how
glad I am you should come forth from it with so much credit. You may

not quite see how, but it is a little of a service to myself. For had
our friend here been more successful than I was last night, it might

have appeared that he was a better judge of men than I; it might have
appeared we were altogether in the wrong situations, Mr. Simon and

myself. And I know our friend Simon to be ambitious," says he,
striking lightly on Fraser's shoulder. "As for this stage play, it is

over; my sentiments are very much engaged in your behalf; and whatever
issue we can find to this fortunate" target="_blank" title="a.不幸的，运气差的">unfortunate affair, I shall make it my

business to see it is adopted with tenderness to you."
These were very good words, and I could see besides that there was

little love, and perhaps a spice of genuine ill-will, between these two
who were opposed to me. For all that, it was unmistakable this

interview had been designed, perhaps rehearsed, with the consent of
both; it was plain my adversaries were in earnest to try me by all

methods; and now (persuasion, flattery, and menaces having been tried
in vain) I could not but wonder what would be their next expedient. My

eyes besides were still troubled, and my knees loose under me, with the
distress of the late ordeal; and I could do no more than stammer the

same form of words: "I put my life and credit in your hands."
"Well, well," said he, "we must try to save them. And in the meanwhile

let us return to gentler methods. You must not bear any grudge upon my
friend, Mr. Simon, who did but speak by his brief. And even if you did

conceive some malice against myself, who stood by and seemed rather to
hold a candle, I must not let that extend to innocent members of my

family. These are greatly engaged to see more of you, and I cannot
consent to have my young womenfolk disappointed. To-morrow they will

be going to Hope Park, where I think it very proper you should make
your bow. Call for me first, when I may possibly have something for

your private hearing; then you shall be turned abroad again under the
conduct of my misses; and until that time repeat to me your promise of

secrecy."
I had done better to have instantly refused, but in truth I was beside

the power of reasoning; did as I was bid; took my leave I know not how;
and when I was forth again in the close, and the door had shut behind

me, was glad to lean on a house wall and wipe my face. That horrid
apparition (as I may call it) of Mr. Simon rang in my memory, as a

sudden noise rings after it is over in the ear. Tales of the man's
father, of his falseness, of his manifoldperpetual treacheries, rose

before me from all that I had heard and read, and joined on with what I
had just experienced of himself. Each time it occurred to me, the

ingenious foulness of that calumny he had proposed to nail upon my
character startled me afresh. The case of the man upon the gibbet by

Leith Walk appeared scarce distinguishable from that I was now to
consider as my own. To rob a child of so little more than nothing was

certainly a paltry enterprise for two grown men; but my own tale, as it
was to be represented in a court by Simon Fraser, appeared a fair

second in every possible point of view of sordidness and cowardice.
The voices of two of Prestongrange's liveried men upon his doorstep

recalled me to myself.
"Ha'e," said the one, "this billet as fast as ye can link to the

captain."
"Is that for the cateran back again?" asked the other.

"It would seem sae," returned the first. "Him and Simon are seeking
him."

"I think Prestongrange is gane gyte," says the second. "He'll have
James More in bed with him next."

"Weel, it's neither your affair nor mine's," said the first.
And they parted, the one upon his errand, and the other back into the

house.
This looked as ill as possible. I was scarce gone and they were